Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
me show you the house we were discussing earlier,’ said Joe, glancing her way. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not much farther.’
Rachel let out a nervous breath as they turned onto a yet narrower road. She glimpsed a sign that read Viejo Avenida,which she thought meant Old Avenue. But the headlights were already illuminating wooden gates ahead, bright with scarlet hibiscus.
‘This is it,’ said Joe, and as if by magic the gates opened to allow them through. ‘Don’t be put off by all this vegetation. If it bothers you, I’ll have Ramon cut it back.’
‘Oh, no.’
The involuntary denial was out before she could prevent it. But although she couldn’t yet see much of the house, Rachel thought the gardens were a delight. The headlights swept over an old banyan tree guarding what appeared to be a stone fountain; the fountain gleamed with lichen, a stone angel pouring water from a stone urn.
The drive was enclosed by kudzu and oleander, and a covered porch was cloaked with flowering vines. Rachel saw this before Joe doused his headlights, and in the shadows she saw him looking at her now.
‘Would you care to see inside?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
HOW could she refuse?
Besides, sitting here in the darkness, she felt far more aware of him than she would be in the house. ‘If you like,’ she said, trying to sound casual. She pushed open the door and got out into the almost total blackness. The air seemed marginally cooler here.
How far away was the sea?
She heard the gates close behind them, and guessed Joe had used whatever instrument had opened them on their arrival to complete the task. Evidently her hope that Ramon, whoever he was, had opened them at their approach was wishful thinking. There were no lights that she could see anywhere. Joe even produced a flashlight to guide them to the front door.
He handed the torch to her as he found the key, and the door swung inward. Half expecting a draught of musty air—usual when a house had been unoccupied for a while—Rachel was pleasantly surprised when the air inside seemed relatively fresh. Scented, even, she thought, smelling verbena. Someone looked after the place. As Joe Mendoza was the owner, what else could she have expected?
Nevertheless, it was quite a relief when Joe found the switch and the interior was suddenly illuminated. She turned off the flashlight as Joe closed the door behind them, her breath catching in her throat at the beauty of her surroundings.
The house was old. That was obvious. Probably built in the twenties, she suspected, and extravagantly designed accordingly. An Italian-marble tiled foyer gave access to a handful of rooms, all elegantly furnished from what Rachel could see. Lots of rich wood and fine leather; Tiffany lamps gleaming in the reflected light from the hall.
The walls of the hall were panelled in pale oak, and boasted a gallery of art-nouveau paintings that she guessed were worth a small fortune. A staircase that folded back on itself climbed the far wall, a stained-glass window at the first landing highlighted by a Venetian glass chandelier.
‘Welcome to Bahia Mar,’ said Joe lightly. ‘As you’ve probably guessed, the house backs onto the water.’
Rachel took a breath. ‘I thought I could smell the sea.’
‘Yeah. Well, one of the waterways that runs into the bay,’ agreed Joe, glancing about him. ‘Let’s go into the living room. I’ll switch on the outside lights for you to see the garden.’
Beyond French doors, a paved terrace looked inviting. Chairs and loungers were set around a table, whose canvas awning was securely tied against the wind. Rachel noticed how the bushes surrounding the terrace were bending in the current of air that blew off the water. Joe slid the door back only wide enough for them to step outside.
Despite the wind, the air was still hot and humid, the whirring of the night insects strong in Rachel’s ears as she stared out beyond the reassuring circle of light. She could hear the sucking sound of the water, but it was too dark to see much more. Yet all around her the garden seemed alive with an odd kind of excitement, an excitement that couldn’t help but quicken her awareness of the man beside her.
‘I keep a boat here sometimes,’ Joe offered as she went to grip the wooden rail that separated the terrace from a veritable jungle of tropical vegetation. Thick vines bent in the wind, scattering raindrops in all directions. ‘Be careful,’ he warned as she moved to where a flight of steps disappeared into the darkness. ‘It rained earlier, and they’re probably slippery as hell.’
Rachel decided to take his advice and stay where she was. Much as she would have liked to go farther, she would prefer to do so in daylight when she could see where she was putting her feet. Not all visitors to the garden would be friendly, she reflected. She could imagine how she’d feel if she stepped on a snake or a huge spider.
‘The dock is at the other end of the garden,’ said Joe, touching her elbow. ‘I’d show you, but we’d both get soaked to the skin.’
Which was as good an excuse as any to take their clothes off, he thought, even if getting naked with Rachel might not be such a good idea. He’d promised her dinner; that had been all. And he was trying to keep his word.
Nevertheless, showing her the house at night when he’d known Ramon and his wife, who looked after the place for him, had retired to their quarters in the grounds wasn’t the wisest idea he’d ever had. Not when Rachel was looking so delectable, her silky hair tumbled by the wind.
He closed and locked the French doors after they’d returned to the house, and then followed Rachel back into the entrance hall. He watched as she looked about her, studying her surroundings, touching the delicate petals of an orchid, gliding her fingers over the polished surface of a chest his father had brought back from Venezuela.
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